If you take the weeds out there's a flower there

If you take the weeds out there's a flower there.
If you remove all the awful nonsense that
obscures the flower there are some petals of
light blue and purple, there's a stamen that leaves

its pollen in the air. If you wash the mud away
from the buried pottery you can trace the lines
of an ancient language, of a silly mystery
that confuses prophets and poets around the world

and has them shuffling for names. All the awful
nonsense of a decadent sphere, all the hatred
and ignorance of those without duty. The flower

becomes itself despite the weeds, she becomes
the object of my enlightenment, the subject
of my brief dreams and ridiculous fantasies.